


Scars and Stitches

by Sineala



Category: Bullet Points (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 02:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17459231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: When Tony shows up to SHIELD to be fitted with the Iron Man armor, Steve, the original Iron Man, is there to help him out.





	Scars and Stitches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhenasInSilks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenasInSilks/gifts).



> This is set in a universe in which Steve survived the Hulk fight, obviously, and stuck around and was able to meet Tony. That's the best kind of universe!

Tony stood on the platform as the SHIELD technicians began bolting him into the suit prototype. His head was held high and he gazed almost nobly into the distance, as if he were posing for a recruiting poster. He was earnest, determined, brave -- and he had no goddamn clue what he was in for.

Steve looked down at him from the observation room and hated that they had to do this to him.

He'd heard of Tony, of course, the brilliant industrialist -- everyone had, after the poor kid had inherited the company last year. For God's sake, he'd only been twenty-one. Steve had thought it had been a joke when he'd seen Tony's picture clipped to the top application in the pile of candidates for Project Iron Man. He'd laughed. What the hell was a millionaire doing, wanting to be the next Iron Man?

The joke was on Steve, though, because Tony had turned out to be the best of the candidates by far. Not to mention, well... when Reed had asked Steve if there was any reason he could think of to disqualify him, Steve couldn't very well say _I don't want to hurt him_. Just because Tony was so gorgeous that Steve's first impulse was to take him home with him didn't mean that was an impulse he should actually listen to. They were going crazy hunting for queers these days, and if anything, Tony would be likely to turn him in.

Tony had been just as gorgeous in person as he'd been on paper. Even more so, really. Steve had met him at the interview and had momentarily forgotten his own name. For his part, Tony had kept staring at him like he couldn't believe he was in the same room as Colonel Steven Rogers, the original Iron Man.

(There hadn't been anything else in Tony's gaze, Steve had told himself, sternly. There couldn't have been. It was all a lonely old man's imagination.)

So Tony had smiled and laughed and said all the right things, impressed the hell out of Reed and his SHIELD eggheads, and they'd put him through. And in under a month, Tony had had the surgery. And now they were here.

Looking at him now, Steve was more than a little jealous. Tony was bare to the waist, the bottom half of him already encased in metal, the dull steel of the armor. The implant in his sternum gleamed, the skin still healing around it. But twenty years of technological advancement wasn't nothing, and the implant that was wired up to Tony's heart was about half the size of Steve's, made of materials that Steve couldn't even begin to understand, and glowing a placidly pale blue.

Maybe-- maybe he wouldn't hurt like Steve had hurt.

Steve hadn't realized his hand had gone to his own chest until his fingers hit the metal of the housing. His fingers reflexively fit into the space between the buttons of his shirt, pulling the halves apart until he could see the red light diffusing through his undershirt. His own private ritual. He was alive.

When he looked up, Reed was watching him, a small smile on his face. Steve felt like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

But Reed just stepped up next to him and jerked his chin downward, through the glass, in the direction of Tony on the floor below.

"You remember being that young, Steve?" Reed asked, in an undertone.

Steve felt himself smile. "I was younger."

He hadn't known what it was going to be like. That wasn't a slight; no one could have. But it was the only thing about Tony that had given him pause, this whole way: Tony hadn't seemed to understand. Steve had tried to tell him, and he hadn't understood it at all.

_I'm not afraid of pain, sir_ , Tony had told him, and that was wrong, that was wrong, he didn't get it. It didn't matter if he was afraid of it. It wasn't about standing up to it. It was about working through it.

It was too late now.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Reed said, in the same undertone, as they watched the technicians slide the suit chestplate on, the way Reed had always done for him.

The chestplate clicked and locked in to the implant beneath. Nothing happened. It wasn't live. Not yet.

Steve tried not to wince. "Am I that obvious?"

If Reed had any inkling about what else he felt, what else he was starting to feel for Tony, that-- that was bad.

But Reed just smiled. "I think it's sweet."

At least that meant he didn't know.

Below them, Tony clumsily held out his arms for the vambraces and gauntlets, one and then the other, and then he motioned for the helmet. Steve grimaced. He'd talked to Tony about that one, had suggested that for the first powered test Tony was going to want to have the helmet off at the beginning, but obviously Tony had had other ideas.

He'd probably wanted to be the Iron Man, like it would mean something to him to be able to wear the whole suit. And Steve understood that, he did, but there were certain practical considerations.

It wasn't actually Steve's show. He was only here as a courtesy. An interested observer. And Reed wasn't vetoing any of it, so it looked like the helmet was staying on. Steve didn't know if he himself was underestimating Tony, or if Reed was overestimating him. He supposed that now they'd find out.

The helmet settled into place over Tony's head; the technicians locked it down and stepped back.

Reed hit the intercom button. "Are you ready, Mr. Stark?"

"Yes, sir," Tony said. He gave him a thumbs-up, as closely as he could approximate it; Tony was definitely going to need to work on his dexterity.

"All right," Reed said. "This is what's going to happen." They all knew, of course, but it was important to be clear. "We're going to activate the armor and then bring it up to full power, and run it at full power for two minutes to check the energy consumption. You may experience some discomfort. If it becomes necessary, we can end the test, but we would prefer not to."

The suit helmet shuddered, like Tony was trying to nod and couldn't. "I understand."

"Excellent," Reed said, and he gestured to one of the techs. "T-minus thirty seconds."

"Any last words of wisdom?"

Even through the helmet, Stark sounded cocky. Smug. Like he thought he had this. Like he thought he knew. Steve had to try, one last time. He leaned toward the mic.

"Don't clench your jaw," Steve said. "You're going to want to breathe through the pain. Slow, deep breaths. Nice and slow. Big as you can make them."

The armor below shuddered once more. "Is that Colonel Rogers?"

He had to be imagining how eager Tony sounded. He couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"That's me."

"Wow," Tony said, sounding starstruck again, the way he had when they'd met. "I didn't know you were going to be watching, sir. I'll try to make you proud."

There was a warmth in Steve's chest that had nothing to do with the chestplate. "Good luck, Tony."

Shit. He hadn't meant to call him _Tony_. He'd only called him that in his head. Sloppy, sloppy. He glanced around the room. No one had noticed, thank God; they were all too intent on the actual test.

"Ten seconds," one of the techs said. "Five. Three. Two. One. Transmitting."

The radio signal was sent, and below them, the armor came to life with a jolt, the chestplate glowing even brighter. It was strange seeing this from the outside; a thousand times, this had been Steve, and now it never would be again. He knew how every second of it felt, how the armor was draining his very heart. He could feel it in his own chest, a ghostly sympathetic echo, and he realized his hand was pressed to the chestplate again.

The blue light below muted as Tony put a gauntleted hand across his chestplate and, oh, yes, he felt that.

"The power draw is within expected parameters," the tech said.

Tony threw his arms out wide, unsteady, wobbling. Steve could imagine exactly how it felt, feeling like the very suit was crushing him.

"Good," Reed said. "Full power."

That was when Tony groaned. Steve had wondered if he would scream, but Tony was choking it all back, hissing through gritted teeth, exactly what Steve had told him not to do. Steve hadn't wanted anyone else to go through this. He hadn't wanted to do this to Tony. He imagined what Tony's face looked like under the mask, twisted, racked with pain. He wondered if Tony was crying.

Steve wanted to tell them to turn it all off.

Tony flailed wildly, raising his arms; one of his hands banged against the helmet.

"He wants the helmet off," Steve relayed. Tony hadn't been able to get the words out, but Steve knew. It was what he would have wanted.

Reed nodded. "Hold still, Mr. Stark," he said, through the intercom, and Steve marveled that Reed could be so calm about this, when Steve felt like he was dying right there with him. "We'd prefer not to stop the test, but someone will remove the helmet for you."

"Thank you," Tony rasped.

A technician approached; in another second they had the clasps undone, and the helmet came away, revealing the man behind the mask. Tony's hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and his gaze was unfocused. His complexion was suspiciously green with nausea. If he remembered any of Steve's breathing advice, it didn't show; he was panting harsh and heavy, like a wounded animal, hand over his chest again. His mouth fell open, slackly.

Tony's jaw moved. Steve couldn't tell what he was trying to say, and he had the awful feeling that it might have been _I can't_.

"He's going to be sick," Steve said, quietly. "He's in too much pain not to be."

Reed shook his head. "He can handle it."

"Sure, he can take the pain, Reed," Steve said, "but he's still going to be sick. And you'll call it off if he pukes on the suit, because the joints in the prototype still aren't water-tight."

Reed raised an eyebrow in an acknowledgment of Steve's final point.

He'd wondered if Tony was going to tap out, but it looked like Tony was determined to see it through. And that was exactly why he'd been the right choice, but that didn't mean Steve wanted to do this. Steve wanted to keep him safe. Steve wanted to take him home. Steve wanted-- well, Steve wanted a lot of things that he couldn't ever have.

"One minute," another tech said.

Reed tapped the intercom. "Are you all right, Mr. Stark?"

Tony raised his head and looked at them, and it was clear that he wanted to say _no_. "I-- I--" Tony began, and a shudder ran through him. 

Steve wished that there weren't a glass wall, twenty feet of air, and a suit of armor between them, and he pushed past Reed and thumbed the intercom button. "Tony," he said, because he was past caring if anyone would notice, and Tony needed to know someone was with him. "I want you to focus on my voice, okay, Tony?"

As he watched, a tear tracked down Tony's agonized face.

"Colonel," Tony panted. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, sir--"

Christ. The poor guy thought he was disappointing Steve.

"It's okay," Steve said. He knew he wasn't the most calming kind of fella. He didn't know how to be. He hoped it was enough. "It's okay, Tony. You're all right. You're doing great, okay?" God, what could he do from here? Breathing, that was it. Maybe he could talk him through it. "I want you to breathe with me. I'm going to count for you. Deep breath." He mimed it, but of course Tony couldn't see. "On the inhale, I'm going to count to four, okay? Breathe in. One, two--"

Tony raised his eyes to where Steve was, as if he could see him standing here watching. He couldn't see Steve from that angle. It was just wishful thinking.

Then Tony doubled over and threw up all over the suit.

Reed turned away. "Abort," Reed said, and he gestured curtly, a slash across his throat.

Far below, Tony was still hunched over himself, shaking.

* * *

There was a locker room, for the SHIELD agents, down the hall from the testing chamber. Steve didn't need to be one of the scientists to guess that that was where they'd sent him after the armor came off.

Of course, it was only after he entered the locker room that it occurred to him that maybe he oughtn't have done it. But it wasn't as if he was going to do anything; they couldn't arrest him for having thoughts, and they weren't going to know about the thoughts, anyway. Besides, there were more important things -- like how Tony was holding up.

The room was quiet when he entered. It didn't sound like anyone was here, but Tony had to be.

Steve rapped on one of the banks of lockers. The sound echoed.

"Mr. Stark?" he asked. "Tony? Are you here? It's Colonel Rogers."

There was a sharp breath from another row away. "Yeah."

Steve rounded the corner. Tony had just showered; there was a towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair was still dripping. His skin was damp. Steve tried not to have any other thoughts about Tony's appearance, about how he could put his hand on Tony's back just so, how he could follow the trail of droplets down Tony's spine.

With Tony shirtless, Steve could see the full extent of the surgical scars from Project Iron Man, radiating from the circular chestplate, now glowing a dimmer blue in the absence of the armor. But it didn't stop. It was never going to stop. That was the deal. That had always been the deal.

He thought that maybe Tony finally understood that now.

Tony's head was down. He didn't look at him. "I don't know if you want to be here," Tony said, quietly.

Steve levered himself down onto the bench, a careful few feet away from Tony. "I've been here," Steve returned, just as quietly. "They don't put it in the history books, but I threw up in the suit at Guadalcanal. And I had the helmet on at the time." He grimaced at the memory. "When they turned the suit on for the first time, I lasted ten seconds before I pissed myself and shorted out the suit. They had to redo everything. You're still alive, and the suit's still usable. From where I'm sitting, that makes you one up on me, the first time out."

When he looked over, Tony was looking at him with a dawning astonishment, as if it just now occurred to him that Steve was a real human being.

"Yeah?" Tony asked.

"Uh-huh," Steve confirmed. "So I can guarantee that wherever you are, I've been there."

Tony was silent for long moments. "You were trying to tell me, before, that I didn't understand. I know that now. I'm sorry."

Steve smiled, as gentle a smile as he could make it. "Nothing to be sorry for. I don't think you could have understood. I know I didn't."

"If I had," Tony said, even more quietly, "I'm not sure I would have done this." Steve didn't know what to say to that. "But I have, and I can't-- I can't undo it. I'm glad I'm here. I want to help people. I really do. It's just hard." 

"I know." Steve sighed. "It's not going to get better. It doesn't get better. But you get used to it. Believe it or not."

He didn't know how to talk about it. He'd never really been good at talking. It had hurt every time, but the fear at the beginning had been worse than the pain. He thought that was probably true of Tony too. It had become easier when he'd learned what it would be like -- that he wasn't dying right then, even if it felt like it.

Tony scooted a little closer on the bench. He could almost touch him. If he wanted. "I-- I-- I wanted you to be proud of me. The real Iron Man." Tony bit his lip. "I'm sorry I let you down, sir."

"Hey," Steve said. "That's you, now. Iron Man."

Tony chuckled, a sad sound. "Suppose so."

"And I _am_ proud," Steve said, and his throat tightened around the sentence. It felt like he'd never cared about anyone, not like this. He'd never had anyone to care about. "You didn't let me down. You're going to be great. I honestly believe that."

Tony's gaze was brimming with hope. He looked like he might cry again, maybe, but for a better reason.

"I'm glad we picked you," Steve said. Surely it was all right to say, to admit this much. "And if there's anything I can do to make it easier on you, you've got me."

"Thank you, Colonel." Tony's voice was fervent. "Thank you."

"Steve." The correction slipped out before Steve could take it back. "I'm Steve."

Tony edged a little closer to him on the bench. He was smiling, and for a fraction of a second he was looking back at Steve with a definite and unmistakable amount of interest, and Steve was breathless with the possibility of it. Maybe they could have this, too. Maybe they got to keep this.

"And I've got you, hmm, Steve?" Tony asked. His smile was surprisingly dazzling, given how weak it was.

"Yeah," Steve said. "You've got me."

He could picture it, a future where Tony could look at him and see him, a future where someone would finally understand him, where Tony would never turn away because he knew, he knew now what it was like to be him in a way no one else ever could.

Tony smiled again. "I'm glad," he said, and then he laid his fingertips against Steve's wrist, a gesture with clear intent. "I can see it through your shirt, you know? Just barely."

Embarrassed, Steve looked down at himself; he was, in fact, glowing. "Oh! Sorry."

"No, I like it," Tony said, with a wider smile. "We match."

That was the best thing Steve had heard all day. Maybe it was the best thing he had heard in two decades of life in a suit.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "We do."

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/182169006614/fic-scars-and-stitches)!


End file.
